


A Mother's "Love"

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abusive Leandra, Anders/Female Hawke - Freeform, Angst, Attempted Rape, Child Abuse, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Multi, My poor baby Hawke, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Victim Blaming, psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written to fill a request for the Kink Meme.Leandra Hawke is abusive. Specifically, she channels all her rage into her oldest daughter. It's Marian's fault that her father died, it's Marian's fault that Bethany died, and it's Marian's fault that Leandra lost her wealth and is forced to live in her lowlife brother's squalor. More chapters will be added and the fic will get darker - new tags will be added and ratings will likely go up with later chapters, as well.





	1. Chapter 1

"Come on in, I suppose." Gamlen held the crude wooden door open and gestured to the shivering Hawke family to step inside. "Welcome to my humble living abode. It's not much, but after going through that Dawkspawn hell I bet anything is cozy to you, right?" He offered a chuckle, rough yet warm at the same time.

Carver headed straight toward the food. Leandra sniffed, and stepped primly through the doorway like a princess stepping over horse dung. "I'm still not quite sure how a son of the Amell fortune ended up in a place like this."

"Mother!" Hawke felt her face burn with embarrassment and anger. Then she turned to her uncle. "Gamlen, thank you. I like your place, and I think we'll get along great."

Gamlen gave Hawke a friendly nod, and ignored Leandra's jab. Hawke stepped further into the room and explored. There wasn't much to it--a tiny kitchenette area, a sparse living room, Gamlen's bedroom off to one side, and a small empty room on the other. The spare room had four cots on the floor. Hawke's heart lurched as she realized that Gamlen, upon hearing of the Lothering invasion, had prepared his home for them to come. The four of them, Bethany included.

Hawke tried not to show her pain. There would be time to mourn her sister later. "Thank you, Uncle. You're kind to take us in."

Leandra snorted derisively. "Not kind enough to preserve the family fortune, though. Our ancestors worked hard for what we had, and you managed to be enough of a lowlife to squander it all away?"

Gamlen opened his mouth to argue, but stopped and looked down with a smile instead. Hawke looked down to see Scout, her Mabari, who had padded in through the front door and sat panting on the floor. Gamlen was petting and scratching him behind the ears, and the dog grinned in the endearing way that only dogs can.

"Filthy animal." Leandra swept a warning arm towards the dog's snout--the kind of gesture that threatened a hard slap. 

Hawke stiffened. She knew Leandra's slaps all too well. "Mother. Leave my dog alone. He saved our lives more times than you can count."

"Excuse me one moment, brother." Leandra offered a sickly saccharine smile, then dug her fingers into Hawke's arm and steered her daughter out the door into the alley. Leandra had bony fingers with long, sharp fingernails, and the pale skin of Hawke's arm was dotted with blood.

"Mom, what the--"

The harsh smack struck Hawke's face before she could finish her sentence.

"Don't you dare talk back to me," Leandra snarled. "Not ever again. Not after all the pain you've caused me. First, you caused your father to die. The only man I loved."

Not this again. Weariness and anger rose up within Hawke. Her shoulders felt stiff, as though she were shouldering the weight of the world. And, in a way, she was. With Bethany gone--not just her sister, but her only true confidant and closest friend--she was truly alone in the world, and she didn't even have a loving mother to turn to for comfort. Hawke's mother gave her was pain.

Hawke composed herself. She was used to this by now. "Mother, it's not my fault Dad died. He was killed by a Templar and--"

"He was killed by that Templar because of you!" Leandra snapped. "We were on the run that day because of you! You and your magic!" Leandra's face quivered, and her voice cracked. "If you hadn't been born, if you hadn't dragged your family down with your hideous penchant for magic, I would still have my husband! If you hadn't made that wrong turn out of Lothering, Bethany would be alive! What's next, you horrible child?" Her voice rose as her accusations turned to shouts. "What's next? Are you going to kill Carver while we sleep? Are you going to kill Gamlen to steal what little money that poor scumbag has left? Are you going to kill me, your poor mother, once you've finished taking away everything and everyone I love?"

Hawke's head swam. She was used to this--she was used to making up excuses for the constant burns and bruises on her body, and steeling herself from the constant verbal attacks--but this was further than she was used to. With Bethany dead, her mother's words were like acid-dipped glass shards being dragged across an open flay wound.  
But she could not cry. Hawke was all too familiar with what Leandra did when she cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Leandra's soothing, tender comfort to show how much she appreciates her eldest child's bravery.  
> [/Sarcasm]
> 
> I really like comments and constructive critique. Thanks!

Hawke's feet hurt with each step. Muddy rainwater had soaked through her boots, and she wondered whether her toes were turning blue. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she hurried through the Lowtown streets, as the chilly wind whipped the cold directly into her face. She had just come from a dangerous job that took several days of dangerous scouting, lots of running, and hardly any food or sleep. Thinking about it again made her bones ache with pain and cold. But it had been worth it. Her pockets were heavy with the gold coins she'd earned, and at this rate she and Carver would be free from their servitude contract in no time.

Her teeth chattered as she walked faster down the streets. The frosty autumn night got colder and colder, and Hawke started to count inside her head. Just a few steps, just a few seconds, just a few more, just a few more.

And then she was there. When she reached Gamlen's familiar door and let herself inside, her shoulders and arms relaxed with relief. 

The whole house was dark, save for the moonlight through the window that let her see the path to her bed. Gamlen was snoring away in his room, and Hawke could smell the reek of his alcohol, but she knew he'd put in an honest day doing whatever temp tavern job he had. Carver slept silently on his pile of blankets in the guest room, still and quiet with the deep sleep of the dead. Hawke crept through the guest room doorway, eager to sink into her own mat and shut her eyes at last.

Except her mat was gone. Leandra had taken Hawke's mat and piled on top of her own, and was now resting snugly with both her own blanket and Hawke's over her.

Hawke sighed in annoyance. She had finally reached the end of the most exhausting and miserable three days of her life, and she couldn't even have her own meager blankets to struggle for warmth in? She glanced around the room for any other way to comfort herself. There were no extra blankets, except for Carver's, and he deserved his own blankets after his own hard day of work. The washtub sat in one corner, but it would be impossible to fill it and heat the water without waking the others, and she did not want the others seeing her undressed. 

She ridded herself of her armor and tight restraining gear, until she was down to her comfortable tunic and leggings, and laid down on the floor. She put her outer clothing on top of her, like blankets, but it was nowhere near the same. The wood floor hurt her shivering limbs.

She sat up angrily in one fluid motion. She deserved her own pillow and blankets, dammit. She crossed the room to where Leandra lay and gingerly peeled her blanket off of her sleeping mother, leaving only the one that had been Leandra's to begin with. The blanket was soft and warm in her hands, and the idea of resting underneath it gave her a surge of happiness. But the pillow would be harder. She held her breath and slowly, carefully worked her pillow away from the head of the double-pillowed Leandra.

"What in Andraste's name are you doing?" Leandra's sharp, scolding words cut into Hawke like barbs. 

Hawke's exhaustion worsened in every way, as though an invisible weight were crushing her so hard that she might flatten into the floor. She felt wiped out and miserable, and she also suddenly wanted to cry. She wanted to be held by a soothing mother, just once in her life, just to see what it might feel like. But also, she was angry.

"I'm taking the blankets you stole from me," Hawke snapped in a whisper, trying to avoid waking the others. "I worked hard on a dangerous mission to bring home money from our family, and I think I have the right to my own blanket and pillow!"

Leandra's face contorted into indignation. "Fine, then," she snarled. "Fine, you spoiled brat. Take "what's yours.""

"I think I will." Hawke hoisted her pillow up into her arms.

Leandra stood up and pinched Hawke's arm, hard, so hard that it made Hawke's eyes water with unshed tears.

"I was right about you," Leandra hissed. "I was right when I told Malcolm that he spoiled you far too much back in Lothering. I feel like a failure as a mother--look at the ungrateful heathen I raised. Any proper Lothering child would give their blanket and pillow to their poor, ailing mother without a second thought, but you feel all right with making your own mother--the woman who gave you life, and a noble lady of the sacred Amell house no less--sleep on the cold, hard floor with only one thin blanket and pillow?"

Hawke shrugged. It was a sharp motion, fueled by hurt and anger. "And most Lothering mothers would embrace and comfort a child who risked their life to support the family. But you want me to sleep on the floor with nothing?"

Leandra's eyes welled up with tears. Hawke recognized those tears all too well. They always sprung to her mother's eyes at the "perfect" moment, right when Leandra wanted to make Hawke feel as though she, Hawke, was the cruel one.

"I'm insulted that you see me that way," whimpered Leandra. "You make me seem like some kind of monster."

Hawke blinked in confusion. Leandra stared her down, but didn't say anything, so Hawke edged away to make her bed on the ground.

"No." Leandra's snarling voice hit Hawke at the same time as the backhand slap that hit across her face, right above the eye. "No, you don't get to treat me that way. No cruel, brat child is going to share my brother's gracious home."

Hawke sighed. She was so used to this that she started to roll her eyes, but the sinister tension between them made her full of new dread. "Where am I supposed to sleep, then?"

"Out there." Leandra dug her sharp fingernails into Hawke's arm deep enough to draw blood, and dragged her out to the front door. She hauled the door open and knocked Hawke to the outside with another, harder slap. "Sleep in the alley for all I care. Go sleep with the dogs. We'd all be safe with your father, with the man I love, if it weren't for you getting him killed!"

And then the door slammed, and Hawke was stuck outside, in just her leggings and tunic, in the freezing alley full of mud and wind and rain. 

When the rainwater had fully covered Hawke's face, she slumped down against the wall and allowed herself to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

"One more kiss." Anders' voice was low with lust as he wrapped his arms around Hawke's waist and pulled her into his warmth.

She leaned into him, burying her face into his tunic with a noise that was part purr and part moan. They were both fully clothed, unfortunately, and outside in the alley near Gamlen's home. The two had not bedded, yet, but oh how Hawke wanted to. His healer style had always made her feel comforted and nurtured in a way that she had never before been. And over the past few weeks, they had bonded at the Hanged Man for hours, talking in depth over tankards of ale about their shared experiences as mages on the run. For the first time since Bethany's death, Hawke felt like she had a true kindred spirit. 

"I wish I could spend the night at your place," she murmured as she moved up to kiss his lips. "I don't care how much of a tiny hovel it is. I would be happy if we were together there."

"It's not too late to come back." He caressed his warm hands down Hawke's sides in a way that made her nerves tingle with pleasure.

"Maker, I wish I could. But I've got to get my coin from today's job inside before..." Hawke trailed off, unsure how to explain her mother's demands.

"I understand." Anders' voice was gentle and kind as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Will I see you tomorrow at the Hanged Man?"

"Tomorrow at the Hanged Man." Hawke felt her face turn warm with a glow of what was, at last, happiness. She wished she could just live at the Hanged Man, with her friends, or at Anders' clinic. Somewhere her mother could never get to her.

Sudden alarm darkened Anders' face. "What the...oh, shit."

Hawke went numb with dread. She turned around--and saw Leandra's shadowy figure storming towards them from Gamlen's house.

"Oh, Maker's breath, my daughter has turned into a whore!" Her harping voice was loud enough for the entire street to hear.

"You are quite mistaken," said Anders, raising his voice to a defensive and stern tone. "Your daughter is brave and independent, and most definitely NOT a whore. I'm honored to be in her company."

"Please." Leandra snorted derisively, and rolled her eyes with an expression of pure contempt. "You aren't exactly high caliber yourself, with those filthy rags hanging off your gaunt bones. You look like a Lyrium addict who's been sleeping with the dogs. And you?" She grabbed Hawke's arm and yanked her away from Anders, and slapped her hard across the face. "Disgusting, embarrassing little bitch. Get inside."

Hawke looked to Anders, face burning. But Anders showed nothing but concern for her--and anger at Leandra's treatment of her.

"You don't have to go, Hawke." Anders stepped forward, closer to Hawke, as though he was her anchor at sea. "You can stay with me if you need a safe place. Hell, you can LIVE with me if need be."

Hawke imagined being free of Leandra forever, of spending her nights safe in Anders' arms, free of cruel words and contempt and pain.

She wrenched herself out of her mother's grip. "I'll take you up on that. We can share my coin and soon I'll have my own place."

"Fine, then. Go." Leandra's voice was quiet, but in no way resigned or accepting. Her voice was low with deadly threat, and it made Hawke's blood run cold. "Go--I guess you don't care much whether your Mabari lives or dies."

Shit. Hawke had forgotten about Scout.

"Your dog can come too," Anders said quickly. "We can leash him outside when the patients come."

"You take that mutt, and I'll come by and feed him poison," snarled Leandra. Then she turned back to Anders. "I know that you--being the kind of low-bred john who hires prostitutes such as my daughter--give no thought to matters such as family loyalty. But Marian belongs here with us. She OWES us, because she's the reason her own father is dead."

"Oh." Anders' eyes grew wide, not with blame, but with empathy. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Do you know about Marian's diseases?" Leandra asked. "Did you know about all the men she brings home to earn that gold coin--all the Templars who she kneels for in the alley?"

"Mother!" Tears of fury and frustration welled up in Hawke's eyes. "Anders, you know that isn't true."

"Better get yourself tested," quipped Leandra. "For your own good. Then you can make your decisions about whether it's truly wise to consort with my no-good daughter. It's too bad you couldn't have met Bethany--she was the true good daughter of this family. But this little slut went and got her killed."

Confusion and concern swept across Anders' face. Hawke wanted to fly into his arms, to sob and never let go, but she knew that the more she resisted, the worse Leandra's attack would come. And Hawke had no doubts of Leandra's threats toward her Mabari.

"I'll explain tomorrow," said Hawke, trying to stop the tears from flowing. "I'm so sorry."

Anders gave her a brief nod, with an expression that Hawke couldn't read, and then he was gone.

Hawke whirled towards her mother, ready to return the attack. But Leandra grabbed her by the roots of her hair and dragged her towards the house.

"You revolting little bitch," she shouted once they were inside Gamlen's door. "First, you kill your own father and sister. And then you drag random men around to fuck in the alley? I knew you were a prostitute. I knew the very first time you dragged in your bag of gold coins as though you were the one who owned the place. What else would anyone pay you for? It's not like you're refined or educated or actually good for anything."

"I'm not a whore!" shouted Hawke through a flood of tears. "Anders LOVES me!"

Leandra shook her head and laughed. "Don't fool yourself. No one would ever love you."

Leandra dragged Hawke into the kitchen, ignoring her sobs, and shoved her down into the counter. She picked up a pair of scissors and began hacking at her daughter's hair.

Hawke fought her way up, staring at the black locks that had fallen onto the ground. Before she could make another move, Leandra brought the pointy end up to Hawke's eyes. Hawke froze.

"You make one move against me," hissed the older woman, "and I'll cut a lot more than your hair. And that will be the end of your whoring for you." Leandra sliced off Hawke's hair until it was as short as Carver's, and even more messy. "Now let's see how those low-class men like you. Maybe by the time it grows back, you'll have learned your lesson and we can find you a proper man, so that you can actually help your poor family instead of just yourself."

Still not satisfied, Leandra whacked Hawke's face so hard that the mage tasted blood. "Why did I bother to have you? Why did I carry you for nine months, and endure four hours of painful labor? So you could kill your father and sister? So you could squander what's left of my dignity by bringing around men to fuck in the alley like a Blooming Rose hooker?" Leandra began to blubber with loud, dramatic tears. Fake tears--Hawke knew those all too well. "Well, I made a mistake. I should have drank an extra strong batch of Moon Tea to make you bleed from my womb before you were born. I should have drowned you in the well when you were a baby, as soon as I saw you were tainted with magic. Maker, why did Bethany have to be the one to die?" Leandra's fake sobs grew louder. "It should have been you!"

Hawke stood numb and shivering in the kitchen, surrounded by her hacked-off hair. Despite being taller than Leandra, she felt very small. So small that the floor could open up to swallow her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Leandra's POV.

Leandra woke early from a slight chill in her room. On the other side of the lavish gold carpet, the fireplace was devoid of flames. She rose from the bed, irritated for several reasons. She still wasn't over the fact that her room was much smaller than an Amell matriarch's bedroom should rightfully be. As the mother of the household, she deserved the master suite--the one with the red carpet, four-poster bed and jacuzzi tub. But no: her ungrateful brat daughter had claimed it for herself, without even asking first, after some snide comment about how she'd "earned" the house from her "expedition." Leandra shook her head. No proper daughter of hers needed to dig around dirty caves, not when she was pretty enough to find a man to do that work for her. But Leandra would show her soon enough.

Leandra walked to the dresser, changing from her nightgown into a day gown with quick movements to avoid the cold. That brought her to the other reason for her annoyance: why did Marian have to be so Maker-damned coddling of the servants? If Leandra ran the house, no servant of hers would have dared to let her fire die in the middle of the night--not unless they wanted to be fired and kicked out onto the street. But Marian always sneered and lectured, like some arrogant brat, about how the servants deserved their sleep just like the rest of the household. Leandra rolled her eyes. Please. If the servants wanted a good night sleep, they should have accumulated the coin to earn their own lavish homes, instead of staying in low-end servant jobs.

Leandra's anger fueled her plans for the day. The previous evening, she had been tipsy, after finishing the last bottle of Marian's favorite wine. (Like the little whore bitch needed to be drinking, after all she had put the family through!) In her altered state, she had wondered if her plans would be against Andraste and the Maker. But now, she was convinced that the Maker would understand her need to punish her errant daughter. Andraste would justify her actions. 

Tomorrow, Leandra would be going with Gamlen and Carver to attend a cousin's nameday party. Marian believed she'd be attending too, but Leandra would stop that from happening. And--more importantly--she had a reason. A need for Marian to spend the day alone.

Leandra headed down to the kitchen, and opened pantries and cupboards until she found what she was looking for. The disgusting cheese-filled crackers that no one in the household, except Marian, ate. Leandra looked around to make sure no one was looking, and then reached into her pocket for a large fistful of powder. She dumped it into the cracker box, and shook the contents until there was no visual sign that the crackers were any different. Then she reached for Marian's bottle of ale--the one that she swigged directly out of so no one else would touch--and stirred the powder into that, as well.

Leandra had stolen the powder from Anders the healer's clinic, when the disgusting low-class mage was out. It was a potion for some disease Marian didn't have, but it had painful side effects. After she ate her food, she would have severe stomachaches and nausea for at least a full day. She would become dehydrated, with skin as dry as cardboard, with a pounding headache that wouldn't let her sleep. She'd spend her time alternating between the privy and her bed, curled up in a ball like the pitiful whore she was.

Leandra finished adding the powder to Marian's food, and kept the package it had come in. The label carried a symbol distinct to Anders' clinic. She dropped it next to the crackers, and put it back on the shelf so the servants wouldn't find it. After Marian got sick as a dog, she would find the label later, and think that Anders had poisoned her as punishment for the cheating Leandra had told him about the other night. Marian would think Anders was her enemy--and, of course, he was. Leandra smirked. Maybe the little bitch would learn her lesson this time.

She grabbed her coat and purse, and headed out the door.

##

"Let's cut to the chase," Leandra said to the nobleman's son as they sat sipping tea at a table. "Here's the reason I met with you today--I want you to teach my daughter a lesson."

"Your daughter Marian?" The nobleman's son took another sip of his tea, as his eyebrow raised in interest. "What has she done now?"

Leandra smiled approvingly at the young man. He was the exact type of fellow that Leandra wished Marian would marry. He would teach her unruly daughter her proper place: cooking in the kitchen, sewing needlework, and staying home to birth babies for the Amell line. He would confiscate her weapons, destroy her trampy rogue clothes, and tame her like the wild beast she was, with severe punishments to break her will if she tried to resist. 

"She's done everything in the book, I'm afraid, but this time I'm more upset about what she *hasn't* done," Leandra explained. "She uses her magic shamelessly. She runs around with low-class friends, and fucks another mage with no money who looks like a Lyrium addict. Quite frankly, she's on the path to becoming a homeless prostitute. And I need you to put her in place."

The nobleman's son grinned slowly. "Put her....in place?"

"Yes," said Leandra. "Tomorrow, the rest of the family will be out, and it's the servants' day off. She'll be in the estate alone--I took measures to make sure she wouldn't be able to leave. She'll be physically weak, too, and with no one to keep an eye on her if she needs help....Well." Leandra took a spare house key from her pocket, and slid it across the table until it touched the man's fingertips. "Like I said, she needs a punishment, and she needs a man of power to put her in her place. I hope you know what I mean by that."

They smiled and shook hands, and Leandra's smile deepened as she walked the streets home. The filthy dog was panting at the door when she got in, and she kicked him. Hard. She had told Marian many times to get rid of that damn dog. If she didn't, there would just be more hell to pay.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke lay curled up in bed, keening softly to the empty silence. She hurt. Every bit of her insides hurt, as though she had been stabbed. Her head throbbed, and her limbs were so stiff she could barely move them. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she could think of nothing but her pain and water. She deeply, desperately longed for water, but couldn't walk the distance to get it. 

Why did this have to happen to her? Why today, of all days? She had been looking forward to this wedding for months, and now she couldn't even attend. The wedding was for her favorite cousin, the one in Lothering who she had played with every day as a child. Besides Bethany, her cousin had been Hawke's best soulmate and friend. Who knew when she would ever see her again?

Her stomach lurched again. She sat up, shakily, hoping she wouldn't need to throw up. Her dressing gown was already smeared with bits of vomit from earlier, making her feel like a revolting piece of trash that belonged in a gutter. How she longed for someone to stay with her, to give her comfort. Not that she wanted any of her family to miss the wedding, but a companion would have been nice. Actually, Hawke would have even been grateful for some empathy from her family before they had left, but her mother had only sneered at her and blamed her for the rudeness of her absence. 

She hurt. And, suddenly, she was freezing. Her gown was drenched in sweat that stuck to her like ice, making her shiver. She wanted a hot bath, to wash off the sweat and the vomit, but when she stood up she sank right back down to her knees.

A whimper escaped her throat. She hated how pathetic it sounded. She leaned against the edge of her bed, and wrapped both arms around herself. She closed her eyes, pretending that the arms belonged to somebody who cared about comforting her. But no such person existed. She reached up one hand to stroke her own matted hair, pretending it was the hand of a nurturing mother, and let herself sob into her knees.

Hawke's mind went to memories of the past. She concentrated, trying to conjure up even just one moment when her mother had comforted her. But she realized that she could think of no such times.

###

Instead, there was the time when Hawke was three years old, and she looked at the twins for the first time. Leandra had kept little Marian out of the room whenever she was around with the newborns, but one day her mother was in the bath and Hawke got her first chance to study her brother and sister. She had walked silently up to their crib, and stood admiring their curious smiles and bright, intelligent eyes. A protective swell of pride had stirred within her, and she had reached out a small finger to touch the infants' hands in greeting.  
Until Leandra had caught her. Leandra had whacked Marian hard across the face. "Stay away from my children, you filthy miscreant!" she had yelled.  
Marian's lip had begun to tremble, and her eyes had quivered with tears. She didn't know what "miscreant" meant, but all she'd wanted to do was meet her new siblings. Why did her mother think she was bad?  
She tried to ask her questions, but Leandra had silenced them with more beatings to the face, and an early bedtime with no supper.

Then there was the time when Marian first developed her magic. She was nine years old, and decided to surprise her mother by using her magic flame to heat the stove for supper. Daddy was a mage, and her mother had loved him, so maybe having magic of her own would make her mother finally love her too.   
Instead, Leandra's face had twisted in a look of horror that Marian had never seen. She tried to apologize, to take back whatever wrong she had done, but it was too late.  
"You selfish burden!" Leandra had snapped. "Don't you know that a maleficar child is the last thing I need? Don't you know that you've just made all our lives worse? I wanted to abort you--I hope you know that. I wanted to scrape you out of my womb as soon as I felt your first kicks, but your father managed to talk me out of it. Now I wish I had!"

When Marian was twelve, she had her first woman's moon blood, and her mother had forced her to wash her bloodied undergarments outside and hang them on the front yard clothesline in front of all of Lothering. She had yearned to flee inside when the town boys began to taunt her, but her mother had locked the door, resigning her daughter to her fate.

The next year, when Marian was thirteen, she had found the abandoned puppies of a stray Mabari, and made a project of raising them to health--until Leandra had found out, and forced her to watch as she drowned them all in the well. Each puppy's death was slow and painful, and Marian had begged her mother to stop. Leandra had given Marian one way to make that happen: she could stop the dogs' prolonged suffering if she, Marian, wrung their necks instead. She had sobbed at the horror of causing death, and pleaded with her mother to have mercy on the living creatures. She had tried to appeal to practicality, reminding her mother that they could sell the grown dogs for a fine sum of money each. But Leandra had said no--that they were moving in just a few weeks and couldn't take a bunch of slobbering, useless pups. Left with no choice, Marian had finally taken the puppies' necks in her small hands, silently praying for the Maker to deliver them to a happy realm beyond.

When Marian was fifteen, three Templars had forced her to give them blowjobs behind an old abandoned building. She had tried to refuse, but they presented her with blackmail: they knew that she, Bethany and her father were mages, and if she refused to cooperate, they would turn in the whole family and condemn them to the Gallows and death. So Marian had dejectedly sank to her knees and obeyed their dehumanizing commands.  
Later, when she found the courage to tell Bethany about her ordeal, Leandra overheard from across the bedroom door. She had stormed in, grabbed Marian by the hair, slapped her hard across the face, and told her it was her own fault for not knowing her place.  
Then Leandra had lamented to the entire town about how her good-for-nothing eldest daughter was a whore. 

###

Hawke forced her mind back to the present moment. She couldn't live in the hell of the past any longer, and the agony rippling through her body demanded that she take some action to alleviate it.

A noise cut through the silence. Footsteps. When she looked up, a vaguely familiar man stood in front of her, staring down at her with an expression of sadistic amusement, like a cat who had caught a mouse. 

"What in the Void happened to you?" The man's harsh voice wasn't the concern she so deeply longed for, but judgment and contempt. "You look like a dried-up peasant whore who collapsed in a back alley after ten too many malts." The man licked his lips and strode toward her. "I think you need a lesson on how to be a noble lady. One who knows to submit to men who are above her. Men like me."

Hawke went numb as the man reached for his belt buckles. She'd suffered from several rapes already at the hands of cruel Templars, and the last thing she wanted was to endure the degradation yet again. She had to do something, had to summon her magic to defend herself, no matter how weak she was. A bolt of fire shot from her fingertips to his groin. It wasn't much, but it did the job.

The man yelled in anger and pain. He reached to pull something from his pocket--magebane, perhaps--but Hawke blasted him with more magic before he could.

He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Hawke slumped to the ground, panting. She had used the last bit of strength she had, but she had defended herself.

For the first time in a long time, Hawke felt like she had won.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to give poor Hawke a break for once. Sorry for the lack of Leandra-caused angst in this chapter. Trust me, there will be much more later to make up for it!

Hawke stood up slowly. She shivered violently from head to toe, from both the illness and the shock of her near attack. Her heart pounded like an erratic drum. But, inside, a fire had risen within her. She had won. Unlike with her mother, unlike with those Templars in the alley ten years ago, this time she won. She had defended herself from another round of degradation from yet another abuser.

She took a few ginger steps across the room, and nudged his body with her toe. He was still solidly unconscious, and she figured he'd be out for at least a few hours. Enough to buy her time.

"Fuck you," she said calmly to the passed-out attacker on the floor. "You should never have fought me."

A new energy surged through her veins, and she realized it was confidence. Not the kind she tried to achieve through her sharp-tongued jokes and bravado at the Hanged Man - that was just a mask to hide the perpetual shame that festered underneath. But this was a certain genuine warmth for herself that she had never had before. Maybe no one else was going to protect her, but she could protect herself. She deserved it.

She leaned against her doorway and wrapped both arms around herself, in a secure and warm hug. "I love you, Marian." The words felt foreign on her tongue. No one had ever said them before. But she deserved to hear them.

Then she curled up on the ground and slept.

#

Pounding noises jolted her awake. She lunged up and grabbed her staff, terrified, ready to face the intruder yet again. But he was still unconscious on the floor. Relief washed through her like a healing balm, and she drew in a few deep breaths.

The pounding was coming from the front door. Her throat constricted--Templars. Ever since that day when she was 15, seeing a Templar on the street filled her with fear and dread. And now they'd come to take her away. How was she supposed to defeat a bunch of armed Templars, who were equipped with mage-bane, when she was so weak and sick and all alone? She wanted to run. She wanted to cry. But instead, she froze into the steely numbness she had always known.

And then the voice. "Hawke! Are you all right?"

It was no Templar. It was Anders. Tears spilled down her face with no warning, but this time they weren't tears of fear. They were tears of gratitude. 

His footsteps thundered up the stairs. "Hawke, can you hear me? Are you hurt?"

She ran down the hallway and slammed into him with a tight bear-hug. He dropped his weapons as she buried her face into his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his hair. He held her and let her sob, and when she was calm again, she told the full story.

Blue heat flashed through his eyes and veins. "Where is he? I'm going to kill him."

Could they really do that? Hawke relished the idea. But the thought of arrest by the Templars crept back into her mind. "Anders, he's out cold already. I knocked him out and--"

He kissed her forehead. "Darling, I know how strong and powerful you are. I know that no enemy would stand a chance against you. But when someone tries to violate you--tries to suppress your life and put you in chains--I cannot let them live. Now show me."

Hawke's lip began to quiver, and she nuzzled her face against Anders' neck so that he wouldn't see. Then she led him to where the fallen assailant lay on the floor.

Anders made a few quick moves with his staff, and the intruder's breath stopped rising and falling. Then he cast a complex spell that Hawke had never seen before, and the nobleman's son disappeared altogether.

Hawke stared at the empty space on the floor. It was exactly the way it had been earlier that morning, as if the intruder had never come in at all. "Holy fucking Maker. How did you do that?"

"It's an advanced spell that I'll help you practice as soon as you're feeling better," he said. He kissed her forehead again. "But first, let me run you a bath. Would that be all right?"

Hawke stared down at herself, suddenly mortified. She had forgotten that she was clad in just a nightgown, smelling like sweat and vomit, with tangled hair and eyes puffy from crying. 

Anders stroked her hair. "That's not an insult, darling. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, right now in this very moment. But I'm a healer--I can tell you're exhausted, you're in pain, you deserve to just rest and let yourself be nurtured for once. Would you allow that, my love?"

Love. He said she deserved love. More than that--he had almost said he loved her. Hawke's lip quivered.

She nodded. "Please."

Anders took Hawke's hand and let her gently into her bathroom. He quickly surveyed her assortment of bubble soaps, then selected a few--how did he know her favorite ones?--and turned on the hot faucet.

Then he turned back to face her. "Hawke, I understand what you almost faced today, and I can understand how you'd need space and boundaries. I can wait downstairs, I don't want to make you uncomfortable--"

But it wouldn't, Hawke realized. She wanted nothing more than to let herself be cared for, to let herself be vulnerable to someone who would build her up instead of tearing her down.

The idea gave her new bursts of excitement, and surges of feeling within her body. She realized she wanted more than just a bath. She wanted him. She wanted to be caressed, and held, and shown love in the most raw and primal way.

"No," she said. "Stay." Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. "Please." She started to shake again, and it was from more than the cold. She had never shown the soft parts of her soul to someone, never said "please" for someone's presence. In public she was Strong Hawke, Brave Hawke, the Hawke who would slay ten raiders and then celebrate with a stiff drink at the bar. But right now, she wanted to let herself thaw. Her whole life, she had felt like winter inside, and now she had hope that gave her new life like spring.

"All right." Lust deepened Anders' voice. "I would be happy to, Hawke. But you have to promise you'll tell me if you ever want to stop, or if I make you feel pressured in any way."

She nodded. "I just want you."

He stepped closer to her and caressed her sides. His touch felt amazing, and Hawke let a moan of pleasure slip from her throat. The bath had filled by now, and Anders stopped the water. Heat steam rose from the water, and bubbly foam sparkled like diamonds. They kissed again.

Soon their clothes were shed, and Hawke was cleaned more thoroughly than she'd been in her entire life, and when she emerged from the water she felt like a new person.

Then they tumbled onto the bed, and their limbs tangled and mixed with each other, as they pulled each other into the deepest reaches of their own heaven that only they could reach.

#

Anders stayed for as long as he could, but he had to attend to patients early the next morning. He kissed Hawke tenderly, tucked the blankets around her and told her to get the rest she deserved.

#

Hawke's sleep was so blissful that she didn't notice Leandra had returned until her bedroom door was kicked open.


End file.
